The Alley
by Truly Anonymous Twi Contest
Summary: Not all prostitutes sell themselves for drug money, not every customer is after a quick bang against a wall. Slash AH J/C


**Entry #4 - AH**

**Truly Anonymous Twilight O/S PP Contest **

**Pen Name: **

**Twitter or Facebook: **

**Title: **The Alley

**Picture Prompt Number: **#4

**Pairing: **Jasper/Carlisle

**Rating: **M

**Word Count: **9,987

**Summary: **Not all prostitutes sell themselves for drug money, not every customer is after a quick bang against a wall.

**Warnings and Disclaimer: **Rated M for language, sex and prostitution. SLASH! AH. AU.

**The Alley**

Some people need money to fuel their addictions. Whether that be for alcohol or drugs, it doesn't matter either way, it's still just an addiction. Some people need money so they can sleep comfortably at night with a warm meal filling their stomachs. I don't have any addictions and I don't care if I go to bed hungry each night. I need money on behalf of another.

In my line of work, I know that the colleagues only earn money for themselves. I don't like to think of myself as being the same as them. Sure, I do the exact same work as any of them do, but I'm not selfish, not in the least bit. Where they use their earned money for their addictions or for a restful night, I earn mine to give to another.

You see, my Grams is real sick and when my Paw passed away, God rest his soul, he left everything to her: the house, the truck, the land…and the debts that came with it. With her deteriorating health, she needs the doctor to come out to see her at least three times a week. So, not only do we have the debt collectors hammering on her door and making her sicker with anxiety, but we have the doctor demanding his pay too.

That's why I dropped out of college and began my own business. Ok, so it's not really a business, but it brings in a fat payload each weekend; enough to see Grams through the week for food and for her medicines and to pay off a little of the debts too. Sure, she knows I left college to take care of her, but she doesn't know where the money comes from. If she ever found out, I reckon as sick as she is, she'd still whip my butt for it.

My name is Jasper Whitlock, and I'm a male prostitute.

Right now you're probably picturing me giving all I've got to some cute little, big-titted blonde. Well, that ain't the team I bat for, so get that thought out of your head right now. I've known I was gay since I hit puberty, realising that when I whacked away the morning boner, that it was more effective to fantasize about the boys in my gym class than any of the girls in school.

Needless to say, my parents being good Southern Christians soon tossed me out on my ass, when I finally came out to them at the age of seventeen. With no-one else to turn to, I'd taken my bag of few belongings and hit the road further south through Texas to Gram's and Paw's farm about fifty miles from the Mexico border.

They knew I was heading their way of course. The second I'd landed on my ass, Ma had called them to tell them what a great disappointment I had become to the family. Grams and Paw were equally as religious as them, but they also believed in giving a person a chance. They welcomed me with open arms, gave me food and a roof over my head and helped me get a college placement studying History and Music; I had wanted to be a teacher.

Of course, that all fell through after the first year. Paw took a turn for the worse; sixty years of smoking had left his lungs as black as coal and given him cancer. I continued to study for a few months and work an evening job at a bar to bring in the money, but when Paw finally passed on, I dropped everything to be there for Grams. Now she's going the same way that Paw had, just five years later.

I spend all week long with Grams, tending to her needs and sorting out the paperwork for her, arranging payment schemes for her bills and making sure she takes her medication. She often cries to me about her worries, about how on earth we were to pay for everything and what was to become of me after she passes away. I just swallow the lump in my throat and reassure her that I would be just fine and she's to only worry about making sure she is still breathing. That might sound harsh, but I love my Grams to pieces and I don't want her to go.

Anyway, I'm trailing away from things.

So, yeah, I'm a male prostitute. Each Friday night, I take my Paw's old truck and drive the fifty or so miles to a small town just before the Mexico border. I book a room at the same low rate bed and breakfast near the edge of the town to spend Saturday and Sunday night in, then early Monday morning I drive back home to be with Grams.

There are many prostitutes in the town, both male and female, but there's also a large turnover of people passing through. The majority of customers are truckers, but I'll explain more about the customers in a moment. Things seem to work in three's in this town. There's three types of prostitutes and three types of customers.

The first type of prostitute is the female. She walks the streets or stands on corners, wearing skirts too high and tops too low. She's been in the game long enough to know which civilians to prey on and which not; her main customers are business men. She also wants the comfort though and will lead her customer to a pre-booked room somewhere.

The second type of prostitute is the straight male. He wears flashy clothes if he can afford it and deliberately struts around the town, like a peacock displaying his colours, to draw the ladies in. His main customers are the wealthy females on vacation, looking to have some fun whilst away from home. He also gets some local work too, with the girls who are tired of waiting for a man to take away her innocence. Like the females, he takes them to a room somewhere, to help them feel comfortable and at ease; he's guaranteed good pay for this.

The third type of prostitute is the category that I fall under: the gay male. We avoid the main streets so that attention isn't drawn to us. Our customers know where to find us and so they come searching for us, we just lay in wait. As I mentioned earlier, our main customers are truckers, guys passing through that you'll see once and likely not again for a few months. We are different from the other prostitutes, we don't care for comfort. We stick to the alleys and back streets, get the deed done, get paid, and then go on our way.

We tend to have our own sections of the town. We keep one specific street or alley to ourselves and never wander onto another's territory. If you keep to the same area, then if someone liked you they'll know where to find you next time that they're passing through. I've been at the game in this area long enough to have raised through the ranks and I now own one of the best alleys in the whole town, a hot spot for truckers. Just as well, they pay decently and money is what I need. During a decent weekend, I can be going home with anywhere between a thousand and two thousand bucks in my wallet.

For us, the gay male prostitutes, there are three kinds of customers. I try not to look at my customers, but can label each into a category by their preferences.

The first type of customer is the straight male, the men who have been away from home so long on the roads that they can't wait a second more to get laid. They have a few dollars in their pockets and want to get off somehow. They can't afford the females, so they come to our section of town in search of a guy with at least shoulder length hair, so they can pretend we're female. They don't want to fuck or be fucked, they just want head.

The second type of customer is the bi-sexual/bi-curious male. These are the ones who either have little or no experience with other men or would rather try things out with us before trying a serious relationship. These ones mostly prefer to top, though you get the odd ones who want to experiment further and become a bottom; in which case they aim for the more experienced prostitutes, like me. At least that way they know we'll take things slow for them and be careful. Sometimes they pay good, sometimes they don't, it's hit or miss with these guys.

Lastly is the third type of customer: the gay males. These consist mostly of openly gay truckers and now and then a business man. It's always a 50/50 chance with these, depending on what they fancy on the night. Some like to top, some like to bottom. Some fancy having head, some fancy all three, in which case they pay extra.

You are probably reading this and thinking: 'Ew. Gross. How can you stand to have sex with all these men?' How can I stand it? Because it's good money, it pays the bills and debts and it pays for Gram's medication that eases her pain in her last few months of life. I won't deny it; I know she hasn't long left in the world. If you cared for someone so much as I do for Grams, you'd do anything to ease their pain, wouldn't you? Even if I worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it wouldn't bring enough money to cover everything she needs; this is the only option I have and I'm grateful to even have this.

It does make it easier by avoiding eye contact with them. I've been around long enough to know that how you present yourself, especially with first time clients, helps a lot. I've seen guys pacing from one end of their alleys to the other, anxiously awaiting their next pay so that they can rush off for a drug or alcohol fix. I've seen guys sat on the sidewalk and pestering anyone who walks by: 'I'll suck you for thirty'. Clients don't want that.

I aim to keep myself clean and casual, thoroughly douching before each night on the streets, the last thing a client wants is shit on their dick. I have a preferred stance too; you don't want to come across as overly willing or completely uninterested. I may pace a little from time to time, stretching out the legs, you know? But mostly, I stand facing the wall resting against it with one hand, the other hand securely in my back pocket and a bend to one leg to further add to the casualness; that way the ass is pushed out a little, but you don't seem either too keen or too bored.

Picture yourself as a client, searching the alleys for the perfect guy. Who would you go to: the guy throwing himself at you, rattling out prices and trying to tug your pants down, or the guy leaning casually against the wall waiting for you to go to him? Yeah, I'd choose me too.

It always starts the same way. You hear the footsteps approaching you, boots clicking against the cobble stones of the alley. He might stop at a distance to check you out and see if you're good enough for what he wants, he either leaves or approaches further. He'll stop behind you; maybe enquire a price for what he wants. If he wants to fuck or be fucked, either way, I hold up a condom in clear sight of him. I don't bareback, you never know where else these guys have been and if he wants to be fucked, I provide lube too. I've been at this long enough that a little spit is all I need, but I take care of my customers. They don't return the favour though, they just get off, toss the money on the floor and leave; I often go the whole weekend without coming even once.

I'm getting carried away again. Now you know the basis of what I do, but I wanted to tell you about one customer in particular. He wasn't like any other I had entertained in my whole background of prostitution.

It was a Friday night and I'd just rolled into town, booked my room and cleaned up, then headed to my alley. Friday nights had always been the quietest of the weekend, so I wasn't expecting much custom that night. I had been leaning against the wall for perhaps an hour and a half before the tell-tale sounds of a customer approached, his footsteps clacking against the cobble stones.

Like any other, he stopped a short distance away to check me out. I just remained stood still, my hand in my back pocket in my usual casual stance, my hat lowered to shade my face further in the growing darkness of the alley. He studied me for at least three minutes, then approached further and stopped behind me. It began like any normal night, but when he spoke, it was different.

"Show me your arms."

I frowned at the unfamiliar request, but needing the money had me responding automatically so that he wouldn't leave. I kept my back to him, straightening my body up and removing my hand from my pocket, holding my arms slightly out from my sides. I heard him come closer, but remained still as he took first my left arm, then my right in his hands. He pushed up the sleeves of my shirt and turned each arm into the remaining light, studying the whole forearms and up to the dip of my elbows; I knew he was looking for needle tracks. I was of course clean and he rolled down my sleeves and let me go.

"How old are you?"

"Almost twenty four, sir."

I could hear from his accent that he wasn't from around here, he didn't even sound fully American. My guess would be that he'd been living in the more northern states for just a few years. From the sound of his voice, he was older than me if only by a few years, hence my respect by calling him 'sir'.

He was quiet for several seconds; if not for his slow breathing behind me I'd have thought that he'd gone. He must have been studying me and considering things. After about a minute, he took in a deeper breath.

"How much do you charge?"

"Well that depends on what you want and how you want it."

"I prefer to top."

If you had paid attention earlier, that rules out one of the types of customers. He was really well spoken and I instantly ruled out him being a trucker. He was a business man of some sort and more likely gay than bi-sexual. Whatever he was, it didn't matter to me, it was still money. I moved my hand to my back pocket again and pulled out a condom, always keeping at least six in my pocket each night. I held it up over my shoulder for him to see it.

"Three hundred bucks."

I heard him move behind me, stepping closer and the condom was tugged gently out of my hand. I heard the slight rustle of the packet as he checked it over, and then felt movement against my ass as he placed it back in my pocket. I frowned at the sensation and half turned my head to try to look at him, but he was out of my line of sight.

"I don't bareback."

"I don't expect you to. I'd rather use one of my own, if you wouldn't mind. They're hospital issued - more reliable."

I wondered why on earth this guy would have hospital issued condoms at hand, but shrugged the thought off, I needed the money. I nodded to show that it was fine, then moved forward away from him, closer to the wall and after a quick glance in each direction of the alley, I unbuttoned my jeans and let them drop to my ankles; this is where going commando becomes handy, less fabric to deal with.

I spread my legs as far as my jeans would allow. I tended to wear the same jeans on my 'business trips' as they could handle the pressure of being strained. They were stretched enough that I could keep them at my ankles and still have my legs far enough apart for the customer's satisfaction.

I heard him step forward as I braced my hands against the wall. With each customer, I never really knew what to expect. Some would push right in without care and would be rough as they chased their climax, others took things slow to make the most of the money they were spending; this guy was a complete surprise.

I felt the warmth of his breath against the nape of my neck causing a shiver to vibrate down my spine. There was a tentative touch to my ass, as though he'd placed a single finger on a cheek to test how I felt. Seeming satisfied, his whole hand came into contact with my right ass cheek. He kneaded the tight muscle beneath his palm, fanning his fingers across my skin as he did so, then his free hand came to do the same on the other side. It wasn't odd for a customer to touch first, so I kept still and allowed him to continue what he was doing.

He continued his ministrations for a couple of minutes, his breath disappearing from the back of my neck, but his hands didn't cease their actions. His touch was gentle, not forceful like I had experienced with customers in the past, especially truckers who needed to get things over with quickly. I could tell this might take a while and moved from my hands to lean on my forearms instead. I was about to ask if he had changed his mind, but then the most amazing sensation I had ever felt hit me, drawing a moan from my throat, instead of words.

His massaging hands had moved inwards towards my crack, using his fingers and thumbs to spread my cheeks, and then something warm and moist pressed against my hole. As the moan faded from my throat, I heard a faint sucking sound and realised what was happening. The warmth against my ass had increased with each breath the man exhaled. He had his mouth against my hole, licking against my skin and timidly probing his tongue into my opening.

I had been at this game long enough that I could be ready for a cock with just a little spit; I considered telling him this as his tongue easily pressed into my hole, but the sensations coming from what he was doing was unlike anything I've felt before. I felt my cock twitch with pleasure for the first time in years here in the alley.

As his tongue probed further inside, it wriggled against my inner walls, drawing another moan from my throat; I was glad I had moved to rest on my forearms; otherwise my trembling wrists would have given out. He sucked and licked and probed for a couple of minutes, until I felt him begin to push a finger in alongside his tongue.

I had to bite my lip to keep from cursing as a shot of pleasure worked its way through me. I was unable to silence another moan, nor keep my body from automatically thrusting my ass back against his face for deeper penetration. It caused both his finger and tongue to slip right into me. I knew I shouldn't have responded like that, he was the paying customer, he should call the shots, but I couldn't help myself. He was sending waves of excitement and pleasure through every nerve of my body, causing them to accumulate in my cock, and I wanted more.

As if sensing it, he wriggled his tongue and his finger inside me, his warm breath spreading across my hole as he hummed, causing such sweet vibrations through my body. He released my ass cheek and used his free hand to reach around and grip my hardened cock.

In the five years that I had worked these streets and alleyways, no customer had ever touched my cock. His grip was firm, but remained gentle as he ran his hand up and down my length in rhythm to his tongue's motions in my ass; I didn't know what to do first, to rock my ass back further onto his tongue, or rock my cock forward into his hand.

I dropped my head, the rim of my hat caught on the wall pulling it further up to reveal my face, but I didn't care. I left my gaze down, watching his hand working at me, a sight more erotic than any I had ever experienced. I was so hard and the droplets of pre-come glistened on the head of my cock for a second, before he swiped his thumb over to stroke the moisture down my length.

The mixture of watching him fist my cock and feeling his tongue and finger probing my ass was almost unbearable in a highly pleasant way. I could feel my knees beginning to shake with the strain of keeping me on my feet. He felt it too and increased the grip of his hand on me, using firmer and shorter strokes as he quickened the pace.

As he drew my release closer, I was literally panting and moaning like the whore that I was. I could feel my balls tightening, drawing up ready to explode. As the head of my cock began to swell, I could take it no more and pressed my ass back hard against his face. The tip of his finger slammed into that sweet spot inside and I was done for. I came harder than I had ever done in my whole life, the yell ripped from my throat almost sounded agonised as it echoed around the alley. He withdrew his tongue and finger from my ass, but continued to stroke my spent cock to milk out every last drop of come. I had painted the bricks of the wall in front of me and I watched it dripping to the floor as I tried to catch my breath.

There was movement behind me and I heard the faint scrape of his shoes on the cobbles as he rose back to his feet. I remained still, leaning forward against my arms as I drew in deeper breaths of air. My chest was heaving with the aftershocks of pleasure running through my body. My knees continued to tremble and I moved enough to strengthen my stance as I knew we weren't finished yet. I heard the zip of the man's pants being lowered, followed by the familiar rustling of a condom packet.

"Are you ok?"

My whole body twitched at the sound of his voice, in the aftermath of what he had just done to me, for me, I had forgotten the ability to speak or be spoken to. I shifted my body again, widening my legs as far as the jeans around my ankles would allow and quietly cleared my throat.

"Yes, sir."

As an afterthought, I added a quiet 'thank you'. What I had just experienced had been completely new to me. Of course, I knew about rimming, but had never done it to another or had it done to me. It had left me all confused, he was paying to use my body, but first he had manipulated my body into finding its own release and that was before he'd even shoved his cock in my ass. I wondered if this was his first time with a prostitute, maybe he didn't know that he was to just take what he came for, then pay and leave.

I felt his hands return to my ass, slightly moist from the spermicidal coating of the condom he had put on; not that the substance mattered to us, I couldn't get pregnant. His hands gently spread my cheeks again; he used the dampness of his fingers to begin gently probing at my entrance. I was still highly sensitive after my recent orgasm, but it didn't stop me pushing my ass back against him again. He proceeded to use two, then three fingers to feel me out first, making sure I was properly stretched. His fingers inside of me felt talented and I wondered what profession he was in.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Again, I was amazed by his thoughtfulness. No-one had ever prepared me beforehand; I had always done that myself in my rented room, before heading to my alley. No-one had ever asked me if I was ready before either, they usually just assumed I was and pushed right in.

I felt his right hand leave me as he used his left to spread my ass cheeks. I shifted my body a little more, so I was bent lower with my arms against the wall, my ass pressed further back towards him. He guided himself towards my entrance, at first lightly rubbing the coated head against my hole. After a few more seconds, he began gently pushing his way in. I bit my lip at the size of him. I'd taken many varied shapes and sizes in the past, but the bigger gents were often still a shock to my system at first. He stilled once the whole head of his cock had pushed inside, letting my body adjust, not that it needed it.

"Is this ok?"

I released my lip from my teeth, but couldn't for now form any words. Instead, I hummed in assent that it was ok and pushed my ass back against him, the movement causing my ass to swallow him half way. I heard his intake of breath, followed by a soft moan, and then he pushed his hips forward to slide fully into me.

A whimper broke from my throat as his thrust caused him to rub against my prostate; it was still swollen from my pleasure moments before, sensitive to the touch. He had begun easing back out to thrust again, but stilled as he heard the whimper.

"I'm sorry, are you ok?"

"Yes, sir, just a little sensitive still; I'll be just fine."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, and then settled as his free hand moved to my lower back, massaging soothing circles into the base of my spine. He kept his other hand on my hip, his thumb lightly stroking the soft skin there as he held himself still for a while longer. When I was sure I was ready enough, I tilted my hips away from his, then pushed them back again, the sensitivity had lessened enough.

"I'm ok now, sir."

He seemed almost hesitant, as though he might change his mind and pull back out. From what I had felt of him so far, he was a caring and compassionate person, likely a sensitive soul too, but I needed the money and couldn't afford for him to leave. I rocked my ass against him again, moving enough against the wall so that I was resting once more on my hands, steadying myself as I began setting a rhythm. After a few seconds of my rocking back and forth on his cock, both of his hands returned to my hips as he took over the rhythm, easing himself out part way and thrusting back in. I stilled my hips and left him to it.

His warm breath returned to the back of my neck, tickling the hairs there as he increased his pace, the power of his thrusts intensifying as he pounded into me over and over. As he kept going, his breathing quickened and became ragged with the effort he was enforcing on me. His hands gripped my hips, with each thrust he pulled my ass further back against him until I began moving myself, rocking my hips back to meet him with each thrust.

His breathing became shallower as I deliberately tensed my ass muscles around him, each of his thrusts brushing against my prostate once again and we moaned in sync as he took a step closer and slammed his cock into me. The sensation was so intense and amazing, giving me the feeling that I would have come a second time, if it were possible to do so this soon. As I felt his thrusts becoming more sporadic, I knew he was close from the way he dug his nails into my hips. I pushed against the wall, giving him my all as I slammed my ass back against him as he came with a cry of pleasure.

He thrust three more times, each slower than the first as he rode out his orgasm. I kept myself still as he did so, then as he caught his breath and eased himself out of my ass, I moved my hands from the wall and tugged up my jeans.

As I finished buttoning my jeans and buckling my belt, I listened to him behind me. There was a faint rustling sound as he disposed of the condom somehow, then his zip ran up as he sorted himself out. I kept my back to him, waiting for him to toss down the money and walk away, but the alley fell silent once we had both sorted ourselves out. I remained motionless for near a minute, but there was still no sound and even though I preferred not to look at my customers, I turned to face him anyway.

He was stood just two or three steps away from me, his blue gaze met mine and he smiled a little. As he lowered his head, I watched as he counted out the money that he owed me for that service, and then he held the notes out towards me. Usually the customers threw it to the floor, wanting no further contact with me once the deed was done, but he didn't seem like a normal customer at all; his actions earlier showed me that.

"What's your name?"

As I stepped forward and reached out, taking the money from his hand and pocketed it, I raised my eyes to meet his again. Now I was closer, I could see that he wasn't much older than me, perhaps twenty-eight, definitely no older than thirty. I made a point of keeping verbal interaction with customers to a bare minimum, but as I watched this blonde haired beauty of a man, I found myself answering him.

"Jasper. Jasper Whitlock, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir', call me Carlisle if you wish to. I know this may sound a little strange considering what we've just done, but I was wondering if I can see you again, Jasper."

I just shrugged and began turning back towards the wall, it wasn't a strange question at all, I'd in fact heard it a couple of times.

"This is my alley, I'm here every weekend. If I'm not already with a client then yes, you can see me again."

Up until now, there hadn't been any customers that I had turned away, or told them to never come looking for me again. There had been a couple that had given me the creeps, but none so far as to be so bad that I would turn down the much needed money. There had once been a trucker that had wanted me to spank his ass whilst I fucked him, as he quietly cried out 'sorry, daddy' until he came; that had been disturbing, but I'd done it for the money.

"No, I didn't mean that. I'd like to meet you away from here to talk with you; maybe over coffee or something?"

I stopped mid turn and looked back to him. His blue eyes were locked onto my gaze and I was instantly wary of his request, I'd never met with a client outside of the alley before.

"Why? You're not a cop, are you?"

A small smile came to his lips, but he shook his head as a hand raised between us to run through his platinum coloured hair. Once his fingers were through, the hair sprang back into their loose waves and he gave a short chuckle as he dropped his hand.

"No, I'm not a cop. I'd just like to talk with you in a more comfortable location. Just to talk, that's all."

I stood completely still, just watching his eyes as he awaited my answer. Naturally, I was wary of meeting anyone away from this alley, I didn't want to end up being stalked by a creep; this man seemed genuinely nice though, different from others. I still wasn't too sure though, and remained quiet as I watched him. After a few seconds of silence, he gave a small shrug and lowered his gaze.

"I'm only in town until Sunday afternoon. I'll be at the coffee shop, the one by the town sign, at midday on Sunday. If you come, then you come, if not then…"

He shrugged a second time, leaving the end of his sentence hanging in the air. His eyes rose to meet mine with the smallest of hopeful expressions, but when I still didn't react, he gave a faint nod and turned to walk away; his shoes clicking on the cobble stones as he left the alley. To say that he left me confused would be an understatement, but I didn't have long to ponder it all, another customer arrived after twenty minutes.

When the working night ended at around four in the morning, I returned to the room that I had rented. It was a really dismal place, with cockroaches scurrying along the floor to hide under the bed, and paint peeling off of all the walls. There was a strong and distinct odour of urine too, not surprising since you paid extra to use the bathroom, even with it being en-suite.

After a much needed shower and a small bite to eat, I retired to the rickety bed, but lay awake even after the sun rose as I thought about the blonde man from the alley. For the first time in my five years of prostitution, a customer had taken the time and care to give me pleasure too. The fact that he'd pleasured me before himself, then asked to meet me somewhere else, left me feeling strange. Hell, I sure had enjoyed what he did for me tonight, but I still wasn't sure about meeting him again.

When I finally succumbed to sleep, I slept all through the day and didn't wake until the sun was starting to set. It left me just enough time to go through my douching routine, followed by another quick shower, leaving me ready to return to my alley as darkness descended.

Saturday was the busy night; if I was lucky enough, I would make a thousand bucks or more depending on the customers' requests. As the night wore on, I found myself wondering if the mysterious blonde man would return for another go. I had come to a decision that if he returned that night, then he was some form of a stalker and I would get the hell out of town once the sun began to rise.

With each clicking footstep that approached me from behind that night, I found myself wondering if it would be his voice that requested a price, or gave specifics for what he wanted. I wondered if he'd drop to his knees and suck my ass, or if it was a one time thing and he'd go straight for his orgasmic rush this time; but he didn't return that night.

As I showered, following the string of men that I'd fucked and been fucked by, I rubbed one out to the thought of the man's tongue probing my ass and made my final decision; I just hoped I was choosing the right thing.

The bell above the door tinkled as I entered the coffee shop. It was midday and the second I closed the door, I scanned my eyes around in search of the platinum hair from the alley on Friday night. He said he would be here, I hoped I wasn't lining myself up for disappointment.

He was in the far corner of the room, sat in a booth near the window, his back to the door. As I watched, I saw his hand rise as he took a sip from a mug of coffee. On the table in front of him, was a second mug of steaming coffee. Apparently, he had been confident that I would show up.

I crossed the room, waving off the waitress as she made a move towards me to offer me a seat, and slid into the booth opposite him. Without a word, I pulled the second coffee mug nearer and added sugar and cream, stirring it well then took a small sip. When I finally raised my eyes to meet his, he had a gentle smile on his face.

"I don't do home visits and I don't do week days."

I took another drink of coffee, and then set the mug down on the table, dropping my gaze from his. After a quick glance around the room, I snatched a handful of complimentary crackers from the bowl near the window and began unwrapping them and eating hungrily. I felt his eyes continuing to watch me, but kept my head lowered, the rim of my hat shading my face.

"I took the liberty of ordering some lunch, I hope you don't object. Nothing fancy, just burger and fries. I had a feeling you would be hungry."

I shrugged; I wasn't going to turn down the offer of a free meal. By the time the crackers had been devoured, the waitress arrived with two food baskets, each containing a decent sized burger and portion of fries. Before she could leave, I ordered a large coke and ice; might as well take the advantage whilst it's there.

We ate in complete silence, other than the sounds of us munching the food and sucking on the drinks. I had left the coffee to cool whilst I ate, then drank it down quickly and moved onto the large glass of coke that had arrived. The man, Carlisle as he had named himself, was slower to eat, but my stomach was contentedly full and I no longer cared why I was here. When he had wiped his mouth on a napkin and pushed his empty food basket aside, he sipped some coffee and raised his eyes to meet mine.

"I wanted to ask you why you do this to yourself, Jasper. It's not so much that your age makes you young for what you do, but also that you are not like the others."

I shrugged and kept my hat lowered as if to hide, though from across the table he could see me clearly. When I didn't speak, he continued.

"I've seen others of a similar age to you, but they do this for drug money. I checked your arms, not a single needle puncture."

I still didn't respond.

"And you don't smell heavily of alcohol, in fact, not at all."

I knew he was fishing for information, I was trying to avoid his hook, but I knew I couldn't do so for much longer. I raised my eyes to meet his and drew in a shallow breath.

"You wanting my life story or something?"

"No. I'm just curious to why you would subject yourself to such a lifestyle. You seem like a decent young man, you're respectful and highly polite, well raised at least; not like many others around here."

He left his words hanging in a vat of silence for a whole minute, allowing his words to sink in. It was true that I was well raised; I knew to be polite and respect elders, though that didn't mean I wouldn't stand up for myself when it was needed.

"I need the money."

I shrugged, hoping he would figure that it was as simple as that, but one thing I was quickly learning about Carlisle was that he was persistent. He raised an eyebrow, locking his gaze to mine and waited for me to continue. Knowing that he wasn't going to take a simple answer, I sighed and looked down, tracing scratches on the table with my fingertips and decided to give him the answers he was wanting.

"My folks kicked me out when I told them I was gay. I came further south to live with my grandparents, but after a few months my Paw got really sick and he died of cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jasper."

I flicked my gaze up to momentarily meet his, hearing the sincerity in his voice as he offered his condolences for the loss to my family. I took a breath tinged with a tremble and dropped my gaze as I continued.

"When he died, everything was left to Grams, including all the debts; now she's sick too and going the same way as him. She has to take lots of medicine and the doc comes and sees her a few times a week. The bills keep on piling and she keeps on getting sicker."

I trailed off as my voice cracked a little. I couldn't even force myself to keep the emotion out of my voice. I loved my Grams dearly and with my parents wanting nothing to do with me because of my sexuality, then Grams was all I had left in the world; I knew it was only a matter of time, she was deteriorating quickly.

"What medicines has she been given to take?"

I stared at the scratches on the tabletop for a couple of seconds, the emotion of relaying my story to a stranger was leaving me slightly dazed and it took a few seconds for his words to filter to my brain. I glanced up to meet his eyes again, he stared directly back at me, but I held my tongue. It was fair enough him asking why I sold my body on the streets, but to ask about Gram's medicines was more personal. He watched me a moment, then looked down as he shifted in his seat, pulling a wallet from his pocket and placed it on the table. He pulled the wallet open and withdrew a plastic card from inside and offered it to me.

"I'm a doctor, Jasper. I know we are strangers, but I'd like to help you if I possibly can. You shouldn't have to resort to what you're doing, there must be another way."

As he spoke, I plucked the offered card from his hand and looked at it. For the first few seconds, I studied the passport sized photo on the right hand side of the card. This guy was as attractive in his photos as he was in real life. Looking to the writing on the card, I saw that it was a legitimate doctor's identification card; he was the real thing.

As I slid the card back to him, our eyes met again and I could see that he had an imploring expression in his eyes. There was just something about him, something strongly willing me to trust him. With a small nod and a deep breath, I counted off the medicines that I could remember. I knew there were eight items, but I could only recall six names. Carlisle's eyes widened when I named the last two.

"Those are expensive substances, but they won't do hardly anything to help her, in fact, next to nothing to help her. The last two you mentioned are pretty much just expensive vitamins, if anything they will make your grandmother drowsier."

"So she doesn't actually need them?"

"No, she doesn't. Sure, if taken one a day on their own, they're beneficial to some people, but certainly not her. It troubles me to say this, but it seems that the doctor that sees her has been taking advantage of the situation, Jasper."

He picked up his identification card from the table and slid it back into his wallet, then selecting some notes from the back section, he placed them on the table to cover the bill with a tip. As he pocketed his wallet, his eyes returned to meet mine.

"Now, I'm travelling up through the country over the next few days on my way to Chicago. If you'll permit me, I'd like to take a look at your grandmother and see if there is anything I can suggest for you to help her remaining time be as comfortable as possible. I know for certain she doesn't need two of the medicines she has been given, and I'd like to take a look at the rest if I may?"

Having no experience with medicines at all, I had no idea whether what he was saying was true or not, but I was strongly compelled to trust him and listen to him. I picked up my glass and drained the last of the coke and melted ice mix, then nodded as I stood up.

"We can go now. My truck's out front, you can follow me there, right? We live about fifty miles north of here."

He nodded to show that it was fine and stood also. I waited as he pulled on his light coat, and then followed him from the coffee shop. As I moved over to my Paw's beaten, old truck, I glanced over to Carlisle as I climbed inside and saw him slide into a shiny, black Mercedes.

It took a few turns of the key and stamps on the gas pedal, before the truck roared to life. Glancing back over to the Mercedes, it had been turned in the parking lot and Carlisle sat waiting for me to lead the way. I ran down the window to let in some cooler air, internally fuming that a doctor, someone who should be trusted, had taken advantage of Grams and me like this. I pulled out of the lot and onto the main road out of town, checking the mirror every so often to check that the Mercedes was still behind me. Now and then, I caught a glimpse of platinum hair and for as many times in the last few days, hoped that I was making the right decision.

It was mid afternoon when we arrived at the farm. Even though now it was just the farm house and a decaying barn, I still called it the farm, despite it having not been a working farm since around the Second World War.

I parked in my usual location in front of the house and as the dust settled from the air, we stepped out of our vehicles. Carlisle cast a gaze around the dead grass filled yard, as he looked back to me; I dropped my gaze quickly and scuffed my worn boot against the soil. I admit the farm had greatly been neglected over the years, but I'd had much higher priorities on my mind.

I turned and led the way to the house, pulling back the crumpled screen door and pushed the interior door open. Stepping through, I held the door for him to follow me in, and then let it swing shut. Despite the bright sun outside, the interior of the house was dark and daunting. It was so unlike Grams to leave the drapes drawn across the windows, but perhaps she was having one of her bad days, in which case she must be avoiding the light because of a headache.

I cast a quick glance around the interior of the lounge; everything was pretty much as I had left it, though a few things had been moved around, likely Grams looking for something she wanted. I crossed the room to the old chair by the window, Gram's armchair; no-one was allowed to sit there unless you wanted a slapped ass. She might be old and sick, but she loves her chair and doesn't mind slapping people out of the way to get to it.

On the table beside the chair were the boxes of medication that she was to take each day. I quickly counted them as I picked them up. I had been right, there were eight of them and I carried them over to Carlisle.

"These are what she takes each day, the number that she has is written on the labels. I'll go and see if she's up for visitors, she might be napping…don't take offence if she swings for your ass."

He seemed taken aback by my words, I just smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug as I muttered 'old-fashioned'. He chuckled and turned his attention to the boxes that I had off-loaded into his hands and I left the room in search of Grams. I checked the kitchen and the bathroom on my short journey, in case she was preparing herself an early dinner, or taking a bath, but both rooms were empty.

As I moved towards the back of the house, I saw that her bedroom door was slightly ajar and it was dark inside there too. I hoped she didn't have too much of a migraine coming on, they often caused her to be violently sick; I hated seeing her so frail like that.

I pushed the door open, just enough to peek inside and squint through the darkness towards her bed. Sure enough, I could make out the outline of her lying under her blankets. The room was silent and she must have been sleeping. It seemed a shame to disturb her, but I wanted Carlisle to look her over and check that the medication wasn't causing her more harm than good.

Pushing the door open further, I crossed the room and muttered a curse under my breath as I stubbed my shin against her side table. I was glad she wasn't awake to have heard me swear. I perched lightly on the edge of her bed and placed my hand on her shoulder, giving the slightest of shakes to try and stir her.

"Grams? Grams wake up, there's a doctor here to see you. A decent doctor this time."

I was still fuming over the fact that the previous doctor had been supplying her with expensive vitamins, instead of medication that could have helped to make her better, even if just a little bit. When she didn't wake, I shook her a little firmer.

"Grams?"

Still no response. I removed my hand from her shoulder and moved it to tenderly brush some loose strands of silver hair from her forehead. My hand froze. Her hair had moved aside easy enough, but her skin was as cold as the ice from my coke earlier in the day. I traced my fingers from her forehead to her cheek, feeling just iciness beneath my fingertips.

As my eyes widened, I quickly leaned forward and tilted my head to the side, hovering my ear an inch from her lips and stared down the line to watch her chest. No breathing. No chest rising. Nothing. I felt a thud in my chest as my heart faltered with the realisation. As I slowly leaned back and looked once more to her face, tears blurred my sight of her and a solid lump jumped into my throat.

"Grams…"

Reaching out, I used my fingers to gently smooth out her hair as the first few stinging tears trailed down my cheeks. I'm not sure why I did it, but I pulled the blankets a little further to beneath her chin and lovingly tucked them in around her, as though trying to warm her frozen skin. With nothing more I could possibly do, I leaned down and placed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

With just those two parting words, I stood and walked numbly to the door and through the house to the lounge. Through the tear induced daze, I saw Carlisle stood where I had left him, the medicine boxes divided into two piles in his hands. He heard my approach and began talking, but I didn't register what he was saying about the medicines. When I didn't respond, he turned to face me and stopped mid-sentence.

"Jasper? What's wrong?"

All I could manage was a sniff as I struggled to breathe through my nose. The tears flooded my sinuses and stung at my eyes. I sluggishly shook my head and swallowed a few times, struggling to both overcome the lump in my throat, and keep hold of the contents of my stomach. Carlisle asked again and it was a struggle to answer. I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

In the same second that the sob escaped my throat, he dropped the boxes of medicines and dashed out of the room. I heard his thundering footsteps as he rushed to the back of the house. With nothing more that I could do, and feeling completely responsible, I stumbled torpidly through the lounge and back outside to the porch.

Raising a hand, I rubbed furiously at my eyes, pissed off with the world, but mostly with myself. I had been away from home, selling my body for money to make her last moments as peaceful and stress-free as I could and I had not been there in her final minutes. That thought brought a thicker lump to my throat and I gasped in short, sharp breaths as I choked on sobs.

I looked around the yard, at the crumbling barn, the rusted truck and watched as a slight breeze swirled dust in the air. I was furious at the situation; furious at the death and decay all around me. Most of all, I was furious that I was still fucking standing here, when the only two people who had loved me and given me a chance had gone.

I don't know how long I stood on the porch for, swiping at my eyes every now and then to clear my vision. It felt like an eternity, each second like a year and the whole time I wanted God to strike me down where I stood, even if it meant going to hell.

I became distinctly more aware as I heard the door behind me swing open, followed by the creaking of the screen door. I sucked in as deep a breath as I could take. I wasn't an idiot, I didn't expect Carlisle to walk out here and tell me that he'd worked a miracle and that Grams was now alive. As good and honest as Carlisle had shown himself to be, I knew even he wasn't that good.

His hand landed on my shoulder, causing me to jump out of my thoughts as I gasped in another sobbing breath. His fingers splayed across my collarbone and massaged comfortingly, but it was little comfort to my mind, like it was to my body. As I inhaled again, the trembling made me sound raspy and I cursed being so weak like this.

"I'm so sorry, Jasper."

I shook my head and sank my chin to my chest once again. Sorry wasn't what I wanted to hear, though I knew he couldn't offer me much more than his sympathies. There was nothing he could do for Grams, and if I was truly honest to myself, I wouldn't have asked it of him; she was at peace and with Paw again now.

My throat stung from the crying, aching like flu was on the way and my vision was impaired with eyes puffy from tears. I drew in as deep a breath as I could manage and wiped first my eyes, then my nose on the sleeve of my shirt.

"What am I going to do now?"

I slowly turned to face him, causing his hand to slip away from my shoulder and back to his side. I rubbed my eyes with the palm of my hands, causing them to become further sore, but the pain was nothing compared to the one in my heart. Grams had written her will last year, everything was left to me and as much as I had managed to reduce some of the debts, it still hadn't been enough. The next few words rushed out of me before another sob cut me off.

"I can't afford to bury her."

As the weight and stress of those words struck home, I broke down full force and buried my face into my hands as I cried without shame. My whole world had collapsed and had refused to take me down with it.

Carlisle moved forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the back of my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. I dropped my hands to cling to him in return, pressing my face against his shoulder as my tears began to soak his light-weight coat. His hands held me firmly, rubbing soothing circles into my back.

"Then let me help you. I know for certain the doctor who gave the prescription has only aided in her passing and not in her comfort. Jasper, we can sue him for negligence and all your money will be returned, with interest, I can guarantee you that. In the mean time, I'll fund the funeral costs."

I shook my head against him, further smudging my tears into his coat. His hands continued to rub at my back, soothing the ache of my ribs from the crying.

"I'll pay for it, Jasper. Don't stress yourself any further, I'll pay for it."

When I thought that I couldn't possibly cry anymore, my trembling legs gave out and spilled me to my knees before him. His hands followed to rest on my shoulders and steady me. I knew I couldn't accept his kindness and his money, not without paying in kind. Raising my head to look directly ahead, I knew if he wanted to help me then there was one thing I had to do.

Reaching out with trembling hands, I snagged my fingers in the belt loops of his pants and tugged him closer, the sudden movement causing him to stumble and press harder on my shoulders as he steadied himself. I lowered a hand to begin unzipping the fly that was level with my eyes.

Before I could get it half way down, his hands moved from my shoulders and caught my hands in his, then he sank to his knees in front of me. His left hand gathered both of mine at the wrists and his right hand moved to my face, gripping my chin and forcing my eyes up to meet his.

"No, Jasper. You listen to me. You will NEVER subject yourself to that again. I am not after favours for helping you. I want to help you and I will help you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

Staring at his sapphire gaze, I watched his eyes through the blurriness a few seconds longer, seeing only truth and kindness there. He was adamant and stubborn and determined. As I threw my arms around his neck, he pulled me closer as I clung to him. As further tears fell, I choked back a sob with just one thought in my mind.

Grams and Paw sent Carlisle for me.


End file.
